


Starlit Waltz

by Hino



Category: Pyre (Video Game)
Genre: A nice fluff fic, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-19
Updated: 2017-12-19
Packaged: 2019-02-17 00:15:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13065132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hino/pseuds/Hino
Summary: The Moontouched Girl loves to dance for the Scribes, and invites Tariq to join her.





	Starlit Waltz

The night was clear, and the Stars shone above in the blackness, twinkling brilliantly. They forecasted a Rite, but it was days away, and the remains of Bialanthius was only a stone’s throw away, giving the Nightwings time to relax and unwind, for once.

Atop the roof of the Blackwagon sat the Minstrel, Tariq. His lute rested in his lap as he idly plucked at it, leaning up against a mountain of pillows. He had initially said that he was fine to sit unaided, but both Hedwyn and the Reader had insisted he take something to rest on. They were warm against the night’s breeze, and although Tariq had a tolerance for the evening chill, he did appreciate it.

 

He was off in a daydream when the door to the Wagon opened. His fingers stilled, and he leant over the edge of the roof to watch a familiar figure step out into the night. Tariq opened his eyes, their glow as vibrant and mysterious as the aura given off the the Book of Rites, and let his gaze rest on the Moontouched Girl. As Herald of the Moon, the night’s darkness did not hamper his sight, letting him watch as she stepped into the gloom, steps practiced and calculated, as if walking a tightrope he could not see.

Her eyes were closed, and the look on her face was serene, as if everything had fallen silent for her. The Minstrel understood that the Moontouched Girl tended to hear more than the common folk, for he too could hear the whispers of the Scribes in the air and surroundings.

“Do you think they like it when I dance?” she asked, opening her eyes and meeting Tariq’s gaze. She didn’t flinch away from it, and he didn’t look away from her piercing red gaze, soft yet sharp. “The Scribes, they have been so quiet. I think, perhaps, they are upset with me? That my dancing, it is not good?”

Tariq smiled, gently plucking a chord from his lute. “They love it when you dance for them, Madam.” There was genuine affection in his voice, a tone that the Moontouched Girl had not heard him use, and that Volfred may have only recalled once in their time together. “They tell me this quite often.”

 

The Moontouched Girl’s face grew bright, and she twirled on the spot, giggling to herself. “They tell me too! But, they have been so quiet, so I thought, that perhaps, my dancing was upsetting them? Or that they didn’t like it? I was worried the Scribes, they were upset. Oh but! If you think they are happy, then they are happy!”

A few gentle notes came from the lute as Tariq strummed. “The Scribes, they have been busy. Something is hiding in the sky. The Titan Stars.” His voice became softer if it was possible, and the Moontouched Girl nodded as she looked up. She could see Yslach, and Archbeast Sung-Gries, their glow emanating through the black of night, showing that the Reader chose to invoke their presence, in hopes the Scribes would smile upon the Nightwings.

“They are busy with the Titans! Fighting them as grandly as they once did!” The Moontouched Girl clapped her hands together and gazed up at Tariq, who merely nodded, soft smile accentuated by the gentle glow of his eyes. “But oh, I have a new dance, and I’d love if they would just-” 

For once, she stopped mid-sentence, immediately catching the Minstrel’s attention. Rarely did the Moontouched Girl finish speaking without a point, or another exclamation following. Instead, her crimson gaze was on the Herald, studying him, working something out. Her head tilted from side to side as she tried to figure out what she was doing, and even Tariq could not think of what the girl would ask of him. “Would we, perhaps, dance for the Scribes?”

“Madam, with respect...” Tariq trailed, for the girl was looking at him with conviction, hand opened and extended, beckoning him. “I do not think I can dance.”

“Then, I think, I shall lead?” Despite the questioning tone, the Moontouched Girl knew what she wanted. Tariq watched her for a moment, considering everything. It took effort to set aside his lute but he did, placing it gingerly beside the mountain of cushions that he used for support. He stood and moved towards the stairs leading down, vanishing in a blink. The Moontouched Girl’s hand faltered and she lowered it slightly. “Did I upset him?”

“Upset who?” the Minstrel asked from behind her, making her jump with a small screech that she muffled with her hands. “My apologies, I did not mean to surprise you.”

She looked from the wagon, to Tariq, then back again, repeating the gesture a few times. The laugh did not escape the Minstrel but he did find some humour in the surprise and exaggerated motions of the Moontouched Girl. Only once she had calmed down did he let a soft snicker escape him. “You scared me! I was terrified that you’d just appeared? It was, frightening, and a little mean? But I forgive you!”

“I apologize again.” Tariq bowed for his apology, but it seemed as if the Moontouched Girl took it as an invitation to dance, giving the most formal and graceful curtsey that Tariq had seen a mortal do. He could only compare it to Celeste, who had done the motion once in a important meeting between the Heralds and the Scribes. She offered her hand and Tariq took it, reluctantly, feeling her fingers squeeze his hand gently.

 

The Moontouched Girl pulled him forward but he did not stumble. He’d been in the Downside since the Scribes themselves had slain the Greater Titans, and he hadn’t survived out of pure luck and Star-based immortality alone. Tariq found his footing easily, grip on the girl’s hand tightening out of reflex. “I think, this is called a Waltz? It’s popular, in the Commonwealth, with the nobles? I think, I saw a picture of them once?”

Her motions were fluid for someone who did not know what they were meant to be doing. The Moontouched Girl swayed from side to side, one hand in the Minstrel’s, the other on his shoulder. Tariq had a hand on her shoulder, the heat of her body contrasting with the celestial chill of his own. “I do hope I’m not making you cold.”

“No! You are nice, that is, you are not cold?” She was stumbling, but Tariq appreciated it, letting the thought fade away as the Moontouched Girl swayed. She prompted the Herald to spin her around and he did, letting her body gently spin, feet kicking up little clouds of sand and dust. She wore no shoes, but danced so elegantly across the rocks, that the Minstrel wondered if the Scribes themselves were protecting her from the harsh ground. “Would you, if you can, please spin me faster?”

“Of course.” Tariq was taller than the girl, but not by much. It made spinning her an easy action, raising his arm up slightly and letting go of her as she twirled. As he set a hand back on her shoulder, he inwardly flinched, feeling the difference in temperature between them. It reminded him that they were not alike, although the strangeness of the Moontouched Girl’s attitude, and her actions, had led Tariq to think otherwise. “Was that adequate?”

“Yes, I think so!” A smile set him at ease, just following the rhythm the girl was setting out for him. They would sway, then spin, and twirl, and then he would dip her down and pull her back up. It repeated like that, slowly making their way in a circle around the little clearing they’d pitched camp in. Tariq found himself enjoying the slow dance, and from the look of the Moontouched Girl’s face, she too was enjoying it.

 

Tariq raised his arm to spin her again when the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. There was a familiar presence in the air, a sensation that he hadn’t felt in some time. The Moontouched Girl’s eyes were closed, and the Minstrel looked away from her, glancing to the blackwagon, which they had danced away from.

Atop it were eight familiar faces, all staring back at him, expressions soft and amused. Soliam Murr rested atop the mountain of pillows that Tariq had once occupied, cloak pulled tight against himself to protect against the night’s chill. Ha’ub rested atop one of his curved horns, seemingly trying to figure out the dance that was being performed down below. 

Gol Golathanian sat on the edge of the roof, feet dangling off. He kicked his legs idly as he skimmed through the Book of Rites, glancing from the pages, to the dancing pair, and back again. Tariq almost mistook it for Hedwyn, but the vibrant colours of his puffed clothes made the Minstrel rethink. 

Jomeur Many-mane was at the base of the wagon, watching their little dance with amusement. Tariq always was amazed at how expressive a Cur’s mouth could be, given they had no lips to speak of. Then again, Tariq was amazed at how well mortals could communicate without the vast space above them to manipulate and twist to show their affections. The Cur’s cape billowed in the wind, making it seem as if his mane and clothes were one with eachother.

Lu Sclorian stood beside the little campfire that Hedwyn and Jodariel had made earlier, letting the flickering embers keep him warm. His vibrant leaves stood out in the night, adding to the already ethereal presence. In his hand was a pen, and he seemed to be writing in the Book of Rites, or something similar, which made Tariq’s unbeating heart somehow skip. It wasn’t aided by Molten Milithe slithering closer, murmuring something to the Sap. She was glancing to the dancers, then to elsewhere, which only served to make Tariq more uneasy.

“Don’t stare,” the Moontouched Girl said softly, eyes still closed as the Minstrel span her around. “They get nervous if you look too hard? It makes them, want to maybe, not be here?” Her words were gentle, but Tariq understood, trying not to look at them too hard. He’d been told by Volfred that sometimes his gaze was a bit sharp.

 

Tariq cast another glance over to the blackwagon, trying to be more discreet this time. He could see Saint Triesta Tithis sitting on the steps, chin resting on her wings, watching them with a soft smile. The light of the moon caught on her necklace, shining in the night, making the Minstrel blush. Beside her was Underking Ores, who for once was being quiet as he watched the two dance with his single eye. His helmet did not obscure his vision, somehow, judging from the smile on his face.

“Do they often watch you dance?” the Minstrel asked, voice low as he pulled the girl close to dip her. “Or is this new?”

“It’s new, I think?” Her eyes were still closed, but Tariq assumed she still could see somehow, just like he could. “They don’t often watch, not with their eyes, but with, with the stars!” 

The Minstrel softly hummed in understanding, looking over to the gathered Scribes. They all gazed back at him, giving a small wave. It had been so long since he’d seen them in their glory, so long since he’d been able to go to the Stars and see all those who had left. He felt homesick, in a way, although if the Stars above was his home, or the Downside, he could not tell. 837 years could change a person, and it left Tariq’s sense of home and self all a little scrambled.

 

He was taken from his thoughts by the Moontouched Girl softly tapping his cheek. “Mister? I think it’s time for the Scribes to go?” Her eyes had opened, and she looked content, as if she’d accomplished what she had set out to do.

“I think so too.” Tariq turned to face them, still holding onto the Moontouched Girl’s hand. “Thank you, for witnessing our dance.”

The Moontouched Girl bowed deeply, and Tariq followed. “Thank you, for watching my dance! It was for you, and I hope, that it was good? I love to dance for you all! Your teachings guide us to Enlightenment? It’s the best I can do!”

They said nothing, but bowed their heads in return. Slowly, they pointed towards the sky, much like the statues on Mount Alodiel, and the Moontouched Girl copied eagerly, grinning. “Mister, I think you should too!”

Why not. Tariq slowly raised his hand, pointing towards the sky while keeping a grip on the Moontouched Girl’s hand, giving a comforting squeeze. She returned it, and the Scribes before them smiled, bodies turning slightly translucent before vanishing, leaving only a star where they had once stood. They glowed, spinning in place for a moment, before soaring off towards the great black void above, disappearing. There was nothing except the breeze, and the Moontouched Girl sighed content, ready to go inside.

“Wait.” Tariq pulled her back gently and pointed upwards, directing her vision. There was nothing, but then the Scribes’ stars shimmered, seemingly blinking in the night just for them. A soft laugh escaped the Moontouched Girl as she danced on the spot, clasping her hands together. Tariq said nothing, just taking in the sight.

 

They didn’t stay outside for long. The chilly breeze had been relatively still as they danced, but now they were done, it had chosen to kick back in. Tariq didn’t shiver, but the Moontouched Girl did, and he gently herded her inside.

“I think, the Scribes, they were happy?” She followed it up with a yawn and a stretch, and Tariq guided her onwards, directing her to the sleeping quarters. “I like dancing for them. I’m glad they watched.”

“As am I.” Tariq helped the girl climb into her bed, watching as she snuggled down. Ti’zo, who had been asleep on her pillow, stirred slightly to snuggle into her hair. “Thank you for inviting me to dance with you,” he added, draping the blanket over her.

She smiled. “You deserved to see your friends.”

The answer caught him off-guard, but it seemed as if she’d already fallen asleep, expression easy as she slowly breathed. The Minstrel sighed, drawing back and leaving the sleeping quarters with nary a sound.

 

It was still cold on the roof, but the pillows were warm enough. The lute was in his lap again, and Tariq plucked at it idly, finding some comfort in the sound as he gazed at the Stars, remembering the Scribes, and the Nightwings of yore.

“It was good to see you all,” he murmured, watching the soft twinkle and shine of the distant lights, letting it soothe him as he closed his eyes, waiting for the sun to rise.

The Stars shone back for him, although he could not see. They had found it good to see him too.


End file.
